These Words Changed Everything: Startling News That Rebuilt a Maya Worldview

(from Chapter One): THE PEAKED thatched-roofed house seemed cozy enough. Gently bathed in rich moonlight and nestled nearby a large field of placid maize, it spoke of rest and peace. Few could have realized this dreamy, tranquil setting was nothing more than a pretentious backdrop to the treachery marching quietly on stage. Religious elders of the fiercely independent Chamula Indian tribe had issued a barbaric decree: this house--or rather, the people inside--were like rodents. Rodents must be exterminated.

Like so many Indian dwellings in the highland beauty of southern Mexico, the walls of this uncomplicated one-room structure were made from upright poles plastered over with weather-blocking mud. Sturdied by heavy corner posts with beams atop each wall, its no-frills engineering supported the rain-shedding weight of the thick straw roof. Housed inside was an open hearth, a small wooden table, and a few chairs crafted out of white pine, each about the size of children's play furniture. Five reed sleeping mats lay unrolled, bedding their young occupants on the packed earthen floor.

Outside, the docile moonlight danced playfully on a small fence trying to protect the garden plot that delivered cabbages, beans, squash, and natural turnip greens to its tenants. A small enclosure at the side of the house corralled a dozen sheep that provided wool for clothing and manure for fertilizer. Free-roaming chickens, now still and hushed for the night, roosted in nearby trees.

The stage was calm, the setting serene--just like thousands of other households surrounding the tribal center, San Juan Chamula, that sleepy night. In the eyes of the elders however, the people in this house, who now followed a strange God, represented a severe threat to the tribe's religious system and cultural identity. The 'threat' was eighteen-year-old Paxcu (pahsh*ku) who was babysitting two nieces and her younger sister and brother--seven-year-old Abelina, her four- year-old sister Angelina, thirteen-year-old Tumina, and ten-year-old Domingo. All were asleep.

In typical Indian fashion, everyone slept nude, using their clothing as blankets. Suddenly Paxcu's dogs began barking, agitated by someone or something going on outside. Still drowsy with sleep, she rose on one arm and peered through a crack in the door. Paxcu glimpsed flashes of orange light. A cold sweat surged through her body as she realized the orange flashes of light were deadly fingers of fire. A quick glance upward served only to confirm her worst fears. Fire was already racing through the thatch; the highly combustible roof would soon crash in and incinerate them all.

The mob of men who came to carry out the elders' decree had lobbed gasoline on the roof, then ignited it. Armed with razor-sharp machetes and muzzle-loading shotguns, they arranged themselves in a semicircle before the only way of escape--the heavy hand-hewn plank door.

"Get up--someone is here to kill us!" screamed Paxcu to the chil- dren. She thrust open the weighty door, only to be greeted by Xalic (shah*leek), the vigilante leader, who raised his gun. Xalic fired point blank at the tender young eighteen-year-old.

A blistering blast struck Paxcu in her face and chest. Stunned, she slumped in the doorway, but just for a moment. She knew if she remained where she was, the long wicked machetes would come next ...